


Press, Release

by ratbat



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Angst, Canon LGBTQ Character, Character Study, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Character, Outing, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Phase One (Gorillaz), it's kind of a coming out under duress but i wanted some angst and shit lol, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 12:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20025766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbat/pseuds/ratbat
Summary: Privacy is something you trade for fame, Murdoc knew that, but there's always something personal you hope to cling to, something to keep for yourself.Now if only the fucking media and their hack lackeys would quit acting like that belonged to them too.





	Press, Release

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [ intimatopia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimatopia) for reading over this fic before posting! I was having a helluva time deciding if any of this was coherent at all lol

"So Murdoc, there's been a lot of controversy surrounding your sexuality. Do you have any comments on the matter?" 

Murdoc stared at the interviewer. She'd seemed so professional before. She still maintained that air of placid cheer and calm. 

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. "Thought I'd covered this topic before, luv." 

"Well yes-"

"Well my answer's about to be the same." He said, trying to project an air of nonchalance. Trying to ignore the uncanny pitch in his gut. It wasn't like the last few times; he'd been singled out and that made his nerves dance. 

Murdoc suddenly felt everyone's eyes on him all at once. The crew, the interviewer. The glossy gaze of the camera lense. Everyone's staring. Heavy enough to suffocate. 

He numbed his mind. Blocked it all out.

He forced a grin. "If one of the band's gay, it wouldn't be me." He threw a glance at Russel and 2D. "If you're looking for someone who swings the other way, you might wanna set your sights in the right direction to start." 

Russel rolled his eyes. 2D turned his head to Murdoc, startled. 

Murdoc turned back to the interviewer, a smug look gracing his face. He shut his eyes and tilted his head down, gesturing with the hand holding his cigarette. "Now if you're done, perhaps we can get on with the _ interesting _ questions..." 

"But you haven't really answered the question have you?" 

Murdoc opened his eyes, trying not to scowl at the woman. Her tone and expression hadn't changed, but something certainly had. 

"You asked me if I had any comments didn't you?" He took a drag on the cigarette. "And I comm_ented_ didn't I?"

"Hrm." The woman flipped a page on her clipboard. "Do you have any response to the rumors then?" 

Murdoc forced the emotion from his face. "Oh?" He said easily. "And what might those be?"

"Well that you've been seen with men of course." The same tone. The same bloody tone. Unwavering. 

_ Now _ Murdoc shot a glare her way. "Is this what you call good reporting, eh? Rumors? _ Gossip_? Is this what the _ rag _ you work for prints then?" 

"Well people want to know, don't they? Everyone's curious."

"Oh I'm sure they _are_," he let the words bathe in venom as they rolled off his tongue. "But I don't see what this has to bloody do with _our_ _music_." He crossed his arms. "Supposing I _was_ a bloody queer, how would that change anything exactly? Would it affect my bass playing, hrm?" 

Murdoc could see Russel give him the look he always did when he said something particularly inappropriate out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't care. Couldn't _ begin _ to bring himself to care right now. There was a bite building on his tongue, and it lashed against his teeth.

"Well no, it wouldn't..." the interviewer said finally.

"Well, there you go." Murdoc said, lifting his cigarette to his lips. 

"...but that's not why everyone wants to know."

He stopped short, glowering at her. "Well why the bloody _ hell _ do they, eh?"

"Because fans want to know about _ you_." She said. Quickly. Cleanly. Like she'd already thought out the answer before now. "It makes you more approachable. More _ real_."

Murdoc felt his upper teeth curl. He stared at her, his canines bared, his eyes burning into her. 

She stared back. Bright and doe-eyed. But he saw the workings beneath it now. A predator after prey. 

After a long moment, Murdoc spoke. "You put it so _ quaint_, don't you? But it's all just voyeurism when you really get down to it, _ isn't it_? Nosing about in my bloody personal life...I share so bloody _ fuckin' _ much of it but that just isn't _ enough._" His tone got low, like a growl. "If m not _ real enough _ in everyone's bloody head by now I don't know if I'll _ ever bloody be_." 

His fingernails dug into the armrest of the chair. 

"But I don't blame our _ fans_, that's just curiosity, you said it yourself. They all drop it soon enough. 'Cause at that point it's just a soddin' question.

"And of course the bloody _ public_," he spat the word, sarcasm and acrid venom spilling into it, "can think whatever they bloody fuckin' want really." He barked a caustic laugh. "Satan, I wish they'd all _ shut their fucking blathering mouths _ but as long as they keep it to themselves they can just piss right off and stroke themselves to whatever little secrets they think they've uncovered."

His cigarette was burning down in his hand, bending between his fingers. His voice grew dangerously quiet. "No I don't blame any of 'em really. Not the _ idiot masses _ and certainly not the people with good taste who just want a bit more. You know who I blame? You know who I'm much less inclined to forgive?" His seething gaze locked with the interviewer, and then the camera behind her. "You stupid _fucking_ _vultures_, that's who." 

His hands balled into fists. The cigarette snapped in half. "Cause you just _ looove _ a good story, right? If it's just anyone it's just speculation, but you love _ stoking _ it, _ fueling _ it all, and for bloody _ what_? To get eyes on your brain-rotting television program, and for someone to read the bloody _ rubbish _ you print and hand you over a penny for it.

"'Cause you see." He said, leaning in. "People don't _ really _ give one single _ shit _ about my soddin' bloody personal life in the end. That's not why I'm famous. It's for my _ fucking music_. The rest is bloody _ set dressing_. It's for what I _ play _ and I _ write _ and its gonna fucking _ stay that way_. If anyone wants the rest of me they'll have to read up and settle for fantasy. Cause that's what i've given 'em. If they want to fill in the gaps I _ couldn't care less._"

He scoffed. It sounded like a growl. "Admit it. You don't know what the _ public _ wants and you certainly don't bloody speak for 'em. You just want your fuckin' paycheck. Well you can bloody _ have it_." 

He stood, sneering down at her. For the first time, she flinched.

"Murdoc, we don't…"

Murdoc held up his hand. "Don't you dare finish that sentence Russel. You can cut your bit out if you want. But I want people to bloody hear this."

He plucked his mic off his shirt and hissed into it. "You hear that? Are you bloody listening? If you want my opinion you've _ got it, _ and if you want to put somethin' to print, somethin' to gawk at, fill a page, fill air time, and bring in some dosh with, well you've _ got that too_."

Murdoc squeezed the mic until it started making a distressed noise. "But if you think you can just get anything out of me you want, well you can _ get bloody fucking bent_." 

With that, he threw the microphone at the interviewer and stormed towards the door, shoving past camera crews and interns and whoever else got in his _ fucking way_. 

He heard Russel saying something distantly, but he didn't stick around to hear what it was. He pushed in the door, and it gave a satisfyingly loud _ slam _ behind him. 

The hall was empty. He leaned against the nearest wall and breathed ragged, digging his nails into his upper arm, swallowing the bile coming up in his throat.

A distressed noise drew from him. He told himself it was an angry one. A hiss. A choked back curse, spitting out against his teeth.

But it sure sounded something like a pathetic, strangled sob.

* * *

The limo was dead silent on the drive back to the hotel. No one moved. Barely breathed.

_ Might as well be a bloody hearse_, Murdoc thought to himself. He felt a bit dead. Or not quite alive. Worn to the bone, that was what. Hollowed out. 

But he _ was _ alive. He knew because he was still shaking. _ Trembling_, and it was bloody pathetic. His heart still felt like it was pitching in his chest.

He wanted a cig. He wanted a drink. There were some well within reach. His pockets. The minifridge in front of him.

He kept on staring into nothing.

2D and Russel hadn't said a word to him since he'd stormed out of the interview. In fact, they hadn't said a word at all since they'd gotten into the limo either. 

It was such a fragile sort of quiet surrounding them all. Like everyone was too afraid to say anything to him. 

But not because of his rant. Not because he blew up. Not because of his current temperament. He knew it wasn't. 

That was the worst part. That was the part he couldn't stand. 

(The part that _ scared _ him.)

Murdoc's hands shook on his knee. He wanted a drink. He wanted more than one drink.

He crossed his arms. His hands stopped shaking. 

That was something he guessed. 

He stared listlessly ahead. The hearse was dead silent. 

Wished his bloody head would be.

"Arsehole." 2D said suddenly. He glanced across the limo and said quickly. "That mag woman, not you, Murdoc."

Murdoc made a derisive, sour noise. His arms kept crossed. He kept his gaze glued straight ahead, on the separator between them and the driver. 

He could do without the tension, but he longed for more quiet. But he had a feeling he wasn't about to get it. Satan, if only stupid, _ stupid _ people would stop bloody talking to him. 

But some part of his gaze kept straying to his bandmates. Rubbish. He didn't want to think about them. 

He wished he could stop thinking about them.

He watched 2D's hand duck in his pocket for a cigarette. "But yeah, like I was sayin'. Total cunt. Goin' on an on. And we didn't even get to talk 'bout our abum!" 

He lit it and took a drag, the cigarette bobbing between his fingers. "What was all that naff shit anyway? Comin' after you like that. Twat. Betcha no one's even sayin' anya that." He exhaled, glancing at Murdoc. "An it's not anyone's business, right? It's like you said. It's not-" 

"'D," Russel said. "C'mon. Now isn't the time." 

Murdoc saw 2D bite his lip out of the corner of his eye. "Just sayin'. It's bollocks is what it is."

He fiddled with his cigarette. "An' uh, well...you shouldn't lissen t'all that, Murdoc, isn't right for anyone to go after you like that, and it's all just gossipin' at any rate-" 

"I do like men." Murdoc said suddenly. Quietly. 

"...what?" 

"I _ do _ like men, alright?" Murdoc snapped. "Are you bloody _ deaf_? I'm a bloody _ bender_, got it _ now_, you _braindead sod_?"

He ran his teeth across his tongue. It'd shocked even him, coming out of his mouth. He wasn't sure why he said it. It felt like it'd torn it's way out of him. 

He'd just been suddenly overcome with the urge for someone to know, someone that wasn't ravenous fans, rabid reporters… (_ taunting schoolyard bullies, disgusted strangers...his father… _)

He'd been overcome with the urge to admit it to someone. Admit it to himself. The audience only made it feel more real. 

He suddenly wished he could take it back.

Murdoc didn't look at his bandmates. He couldn't bring himself to for a moment. Or two. Or three...

He didn't think they'd hate him for it. He worried they might of course, in the back of his mind, but he knew in the front bit that was rubbish. 

Still. Experience had been a ruthless teacher. And he didn't know if he wanted to see the looks in their eyes right now. 

Finally 2D spoke up. "But you've been with plenty of birds, Murdoc!"

Murdoc scoffed. But of course. Bloody idiot. "Well I don't _ only _ like blokes, Faceache. I'd ask you to use your brain if I thought you had one." 

A twitch passed 2D's stupid face, but it mostly seemed at the dig. Murdoc thought. (He hoped.) 

"Well. Suppose that makes sense." He said finally.

"Yeah it oughta." Murdoc grumbled. "_ Numbskull_..." 

He hunched forward, resting his arms on his legs. He took out a cigarette and lit it. He drew a full breath around it, keeping his gaze off of his bandmates. 

"Y'know, thought about sayin' it. Actually. Just to rub it in that cunt's bloody face." He took another drag on the cigarette. "But I wasn't about to announce it to that bloody soddin' snake in a pencil skirt." 

He doubted he could. He didn't know how he did just now. It was his little secret for so long. Somewhere, somewhere inside him, it twisted him up just to think of it. The idea of saying it again even now made his throat close up. 

He glanced out the window, watching the tinted, faded out lights dance through it. "Don't actually wanna..._ announce _ it. Seems so bloody. So bloody absurd. Really. Dressing it all up like that. Like some fuckin' cheap performance."

He was quiet for a while. the lights danced in his eyes. His vision blurred over. Somewhere he smelled cheap alcohol and cigarettes, and the faint scent of greasy bar food. And heard jeering in his head.

He turned his gaze down to his hands. Watched the fag smoke waft off of the wheezing, blackened tip of it. 

"So uh. this is the last time we discuss it, alright?" His voice had grown so soft. When did it grow soft. "'Cause like you said. It's nobody's _ fucking _ business." 

The limo was silent again. Nothing but the hum of the car. Smoke and faint breathing. 

Finally, Russel spoke. "Whatever you want, Muds." He said. "It's your choice." 

"Yeah, 'course it is," 2D followed. "Whatever you'd like, Murdoc. Not another word." 

Something in his chest felt lighter. Lighter but not fluttering. Or restless. Or hollow. 

He closed his eyes. Not another word. Not another bloody word. Now didn't that sound like a bloody fucking dream. 


End file.
